One More Day
by Wilder Okami
Summary: Shoshanna's plan to burn the down the theater has been discovered and she is taken prisoner. Hugo Stiglitz with vengence on his mind is determined to hunt down the Nazis and free her with the help of the Basterds.
1. German Charm

_**I don't own rights or characters from Inglorious Basterds. **_

_**First chapter fixed up and ready to go. I encourage readers to let me know what you think. **_

_**Chapter 1: German Charm **_

"Guten Morgen, die meine Dame!" The young German on the ground shouted excitedly up to the French woman balancing on the ladder. "How are you on this fine day?" Trying her best to come off as pleasant, she patiently answered him. "Just fine, Frederik. What brings you here again?" She looked at him, and looked back up at the bulletin board above the theater's entrance, changing the marquee's letters with care.

It was no secret Frederik had a crush on her. Ever since he met her in the exact same situation, he kept coming back to visit. She humored him, but unfortunately found it hard at times to hide her irritation. After all, she had work to do. Besides, he thought the world of himself as it was, and had become known far and wide for feats she found hard to believe.

She was also spoken for, but due to what society deemed inappropriate, the true nature of the relationship had to be hidden at all times.

Not that it was a problem, she knew how to keep secrets. Her whole life in recent years was a complete secret, in fact. To the world around her and the strangers who never knew her, she was just Emmanuelle Mimieux, French business owner. The truth was, she was alone in the world. Only her boyfriend and assistant, Marcel, knew her true identity, and for her own good, it was a part of her she had to do away with forever since that tragic day back in 1941.

It was a hot day when Shoshanna's world turned upside down. Laying still and silent in the basement of the La Padite farm house, the entire Dreyfus family held their breath and prayed. Times were terrifying, and thanks to their neighbor, he didn't hesitate let his house become a refuge.

Through the cracks, she could make out enough of what was happening to know it wasn't good. A Nazi in a long black leather jacket strode across the floor, the steel on his boots loudly hitting the wood as he walked caused her heart to race. Perrier La Padite's three daughters shared the nervous mood, their eyes darting back and forth, with looks of discomfort on each of their faces.

A sly grin on his face, the Nazi gracefully bent down to kiss the first girl's hand. "Col. Hans Landa of the SS, madame, at your service!"

The farmer could only look sympathetically at his daughter, and gesturing to a table, invited the unwelcome guest to have a seat.

Sitting down, Hans Landa removed his hat and placed it on the table. The SS skull logo, a sickening reminder of what he was, staring back at them all. La Padite, not wanting to be rude, asked his daughter Charlotte to bring the guest some wine. Silently, she obeyed, and started across the room, only for the man to catch her arm. "Merci beaucoup, Monsieur La Padite, but no wine. This being a diary farm one would be safe in assuming you have milk?"

"Oui" Charlotte meekly responded, her arm still in the man's hand. It was obvious he gave her the creeps, with that look in his eye as he smiled suggestively at her.

"Then milk is what I prefer!" Letting go of her as she went to grab the milk.

Finishing the milk all in one go, Hans Landa set the empty glass down on the table, while the family nervously looked on. "Monsieur, to both your family and your cows, I say bravo!"

Inviting La Padite to sit down at the table as well, Landa leaned in and in a hushed voice asked if the girls would be sent outside, as there were important matters at hand. Obediently, the three left the house, and the two men remaining got down to business.

Switching to English, Shoshanna and her family down below could no longer understand the conversation. With hands over their mouths, their eyes darted back and forth quickly as they could only watch.

"Do you know what they call me?" Hans Landa asked the farmer, who nodded his head. Being a detective of the SS, it was Landa's job to know everything about everyone, and he didn't disappoint. "Tell me what you've heard?" He asked, pleasantly.

Sighing and closing his eyes, La Padite replied quietly, "They call you the Jew Hunter." Going on, he added, "The Germans looked through my house nine months ago, and found nothing." He lied, with as much of a straight face as he could put on.

The conversation went back and forth for what seemed an eternity, the Nazi listening to the farmer as he talked and gave his version of the story, with his papers neatly spread out on the table. For quite some time it all seemed to go along smoothly, and then it all went downhill as Hans Landa's interrogation got the better of him. The only thing the Dreyfuses could gather from anything were their own names, Jacob, Miram, Bob, Amos, and Shoshanna.

Holding her brothers hand, her jaw clenched tightly as she feared the worst. She could only see the look of panic on the farmer's face as he broke down, and the Nazi standing up. Walking across the room, flourishing his arms dramatically, he reached for his hat and put it back on his head.

"Monsieur La Padite, I thank you for the milk, and your hospitality. I do believe our business here is done."

Calling to the girls outside, but waving instead for three of his men to come in, Hans Landa smiled sickly and with a wave of his hand at the floor, bid the Dreyfuses "Adieu!" On cue, the trio in black emptied their machine guns into the floor, while the farmer wept with his head in his arm at the table. Game over, secret told.

Laying still, saturated in the blood of her family, Shoshanna was paralyzed in fear. Her brother, now dead, still clinging to her hand. Realizing she was still alive, overcome by a sudden wave of panic and adrenaline, she rose up from the floor. Not even waiting for the German monsters to leave the house, she decided to make a break for it. As quietly as possible, Shoshanna crept over to the basement window.

Hans Landa of course, was on top of it, and motioned for his men to be still. Spotting the teenage girl's movement between the cracks, he calmly walked to the front door. Drawing his walther, he aimed it at her as she ran. Out of his range, he put down his gun. "Au Revoir, Shoshanna!" he called out to her, knowing she couldn't possibly survive.

How wrong he was! Staying at safe houses along the way, even sleeping in the woods, she had safely made it through with the help of kind strangers. Her name had been changed as a given, and she could never think how to repay the hospitality of Ada Mimieux, who gave her a job, a new identity, and a new life. Her new home itself was like a dream! The massive estate was a stark contrast to the farm she had grown up on.

Just the mere thought of the past stirred up a mixture of emotions she hated to deal with. Sneakily wiping a tear from her eye with her sleeve, her head turned from the lovesick German boy below, she continued with the game.

"I don't mean to be a bother, but I've been meaning to ask you to come to dinner with me tonight?" adding, "To discuss plans for the big night, you know. Just us this time." Frederik's desperate determination was almost charming, had he not been a filthy Nazi, the root of all evil as far as she was concerned. She wished she could have turned him down, her last "dinner date" ending with Hans Landa next to her! Thank God he never saw her face prior to that!

Sighing, she walked down from the ladder, and over to him. Forcing a smile she continued her happy act, "Fine, you win. I'll go. I'd rather not call it a date, if it's all the same to you though." She wished he would take the hint. It did no good to argue, after all Frederik Zoller had friends in high places, and the last thing she wanted was to end up on their bad side. It was better to just go with the flow, as she had been.

A look of excitement and disappointment came over his face at the same time. At least it was progress, wasn't it? "Merci beaucoup, Fraulein! I will pick you up at sundown!" Fidgeting and biting his lip, he added, "Wear something nice, ja?" Emmanuelle nodded, and returned a half hearted smile, before excusing herself back in the building, and away from Frederik.

Thinking out loud to herself, her words echoing off the marble walls a little too loudly, "I can't believe I have a date with a Nazi!"


	2. Behind Closed Doors

_**I don't own rights or characters from Inglorious Basterds. **_

_**I hope I kept everyone in character here, I did my best. It's tough when multiple characters are involved. **_

_**Chapter 2: Behind Closed Doors **_

Glancing back to make sure the coast was clear one more time, Emmanuelle hurriedly climbed the stairs to her office and slammed the door shut with a sigh of relief. Leaning against the door, she slid down until she was sitting on the carpet. The four men sitting in a circle on spare chairs, a loveseat, and a desk greeted her with eager and anxious, and her relief gave way to an obligatory explanation of what just happened.

The black man to her right stood up abruptly with an outraged look in his eyes, and shouted, "What do you mean you have a date with a Nazi? Are you mad!" Her mouth opened trying to find a comeback, but the dark haired unkempt man in the German uniform rushed to her defense first.

"Calm down Marcel! Let her explain herself for God's sake." Lighting up a cigarette, he turned to Emmanuelle. "Merci, Wilhelm," she said, brushing her hair behind her ears and avoiding Marcel's death stare.

Looking to the dapper British man behind him for a translation, she continued with her story. "All I meant was, I will be meeting Frederik tonight for one of our world famous 'meetings' to discuss the big event."

Turning to Marcel, she added, "He is nothing to me but a nuisance and always will be. Don't worry, it's under control."

"Is it really?" her boyfriend shot back at her sarcastically, followed by a dirty look from Wilhelm, when the interpreter put a stop to the ensuing argument. "That's quite enough for now!" His stare meant business, so Marcel dropped the subject and sank down on the cushion, sulking and arms folded in disgust.

The young German perched on the edge of the table looked off into space with doubt in his eyes. Surely too many in on the plan would only bring it down. In times like these, who could you trust? She was just a woman after all. Her urge for revenge was understandable, but look at him. Hugo Stiglitz, the rogue Nazi out for revenge himself narrowly cheated death by sheer luck and a bad reputation. If it weren't for Hicox and Wicki dragging him into this woman's mess, he would be having some fun. If the definition of "fun" meant joining his fellow Basterds in the woods shooting and scalping Nazis.

"Hugo? Are you still with us?" Hicox, the British interpreter asked him, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Yeah. I'm sorry." He mumbled, while Emmanuelle, now growing agitated, resumed talking.

"As I was saying, _gentlemen_…" she hissed, "Frederik has his plans, and I have mine. Until then, I just have to play his games." She shot a look at Marcel, daring him to talk back.

"Which would be?" Wicki chimed in.

"As you know I own this theater, and as you know I have a good sized collection of film. Nitrate film, to be exact. One spark could spread it like wildfire, and down go the Nazis in flames!" She said with a snicker, her mood lightening up. "What do you say?"

"I say it's wonderful!" Marcel brightened at the prospect of sending Hitler to Hell, so to speak. "Trap every last Nazi pig behind the door and listen to them scream!" He stood up and walked across the room to hug his girlfriend, who was taken by surprise. That certainly made his day.

Wicki and Hicox nodded in agreement, while Stiglitz quietly thought it over, still doubtful. "I say do it!" the Austrian Jew enthusiastically agreed. "Best idea yet."

For years Wilhelm Wicki fantasized about turning the tables on the Germans, but never dreamed it would happen, until he left Austria and joined America's army for just that reason. This woman gave him hope, and Lt. Raine was right to make contact with her after she'd gone through the trouble to find him though word of mouth. If only his friend shared the same attitude. Oh well, Stiglitz's problems were his problems, Wicki thought to himself, no matter how tired he grew of being the rational half of the German Basterds.

Hicox, thinking it over, reminded everyone, "Let's not be so hasty here. We have to make sure the big four are in attendance, or else we may have a problem on our hands if you know what I mean."

"Wouldn't want the Fuehrer to escape now, that would be a shame," said Wicki.

"Or Goebbels!" Emmanuelle smirked, and thought back to the first time she met the odd, smooth talking little creep and his mistress. They certainly made the perfect circus couple. At least in her mind.

"Ah, good old Goebbels!" Hicox mused, "Plenty to be said about him. I'll drink to that!" Taking out a flask of scotch, he took a drink and offered it to the three other men. Oddly enough, in a fit of daring, it was Emmanuelle who took a nip, made a face, coughed, and handed the burning, unpleasant liquid back to Hicox. The other three found it hard to stifle their laughter, even Stiglitz.

Meanwhile, behind the closed door, Frederik Zoller listened in, shaking with rage. The sweet girl he was in lust with not only was spoken for, but in with the Basterds themselves! The only group that rivaled his reputation.

"That bitch!" He whispered to himself. Clenching his fists and seething, the arrogant young German couldn't believe his ears. Frederik Zoller, Germany's finest, being played? Impossible!

Hearing the meeting winding down and the scraping of furniture on the floor, he tiptoed away from the office, down the stairs, and out to the sidewalk. His face was still red with anger and embarrassment. He'd have to calm down before his "date" at night, and play it off to her like he hadn't heard a thing. He swore he'd fix her, somehow. After all, wasn't the English saying, "Don't get mad, get even?"


	3. Hunting Down the Hunter

_**I don't own rights or characters from Inglorious Basterds. **_

_**Just to forewarn you, this chapter contains some sex and violence. I didn't go overboard with the details, but I'm just saying. **_

_**Chapter 3: Hunting Down the Hunter **_

Storming up the stairs, a very pissed off Frederik Zoller pushed past a housekeeper in the hotel hallway. An Unterscharfuhrer in black begged him to back off. "Nein!" the SS man grabbed Frederik roughly by the arm, not caring how important the boy thought he was. "You can't disturb the Standartenfuhrer like this!"

"It's an emergency!" the irate young man shot back. "Now let go of my arm!"

"Can't you read the sign!" Shouted the man, a slight wave of panic in his voice. "Colonel Landa will not take kindly to such an interruption!"

"I don't care!" Zoller screeched in a rather bratty tone now, pushing the SS officer aside and tearing the 'Do Not Disturb' sign from the doorknob in disgust.

"Don't say you weren't warned!" the SS man spat back, walking to the elevator and wanting no part in the drama that would certainly come next.

Hans held the red haired woman down on the bed, with a hand around her neck. Ramming her hard, her head met the wall with each forceful thrust. Enjoying the encounter, begging him to tighten his grip, she pulled him down close to her and roughly raked her nails down his back. Obliging her, Hans grinned maniacally, repositioned himself, and pressed down harder on her airway with both hands. Knowing his reputation as a big spender in houses of ill repute, and his love of painful "games," Hans Landa wasn't an easy man to handle. He was a beast in bed. Too late to have second thoughts, the woman panted for air as he released his deadly grip as well as his seed with a feral moan.

Out in the hall, Zoller pounded on the door impatiently with his fist, ignoring the warning.

"What the…what…VERDAMMT!" a shocked and irritable Hans roared . Not often would many dare to slightly upset him, let alone something of this nature. Clenching his teeth and turning his head toward the door, he shouted to Zoller, "COME IN!"

"Herr Standartenfuhrer!" the insolent young soldier slammed the door behind him before Hans had a chance to bask in a post coital moment, or even share a cigarette with his escort. Clicking his heels and saluting, Hans returned the gesture with a half hearted wave of his right hand while holding himself up with his left.

"Forgive me, Colonel…Fraulein," He apologized, looking dumbfounded at the limp redhead pressed under Hans, just now beginning to gain the color back to her face. Now noticing his mistake, Zoller thought it best to keep his mouth shut for the duration of the telling off by the naked Standartenfuhrer.

"Are you mad?" Hans inquired angrily of the boy. "What is the meaning of this? You're lucky I don't have you shot!"

Stuttering and gesturing wildly, the usually confident Zoller couldn't find the words as his heart raced and face flushed all over again.

"WELL?" Demanded the Standartenfuhrer.

Finding the courage to speak, Frederick took a deep breath and related his story of eavesdropping outside the office door in Emmanuelle's theater. Hans expression turned from rage to intrigue as Zoller went on to tell of how she along with fellow conspirators nicknamed the Basterds planned to set fire to the theater during the German Night celebration, to kill Goebbels, the Fuhrer, and all.

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" Mused Hans with a wicked grin. "Thank you, Private Zoller!"

Frederik's smug look returned to his face, relieved that he wouldn't be shot afterall.

Rolling over and finally pulling out of the woman beneath him, Hans took note of the odd stare the young man was now giving him, not knowing what to make of the situation. Covering up, Hans dismissed Frederik with a wave of his hand, lit a cigarette, and picked up the phone.

Stroking his chest, and licking his cheek and jaw with her tongue, Landa's escort was once again in a frisky mood. Hoping to be paid double, and unbothered by the rude interruption, she crawled down on him between the sheets while he waited on the line, un-phased by what the woman was doing to him.

"Ja, Herr Goebbels, wie gehts!" said Hans, as the Minister of Propaganda finally picked up on the other end. Upon repeating the story to Goebbels, Hans eyes widened as he now held the phone a considerable distance from his ear, while Goebbels pitched his fit.

Frustrated himself now, Hans reached under the sheets to grab a fistful of the whore's hair and yank her off him. Yelping in pain, she complied. His pleasure ruined once again. On hold once again, Landa now had the opportunity to kick the woman out of his room. Hurriedly she dressed, and picked up the scattered Francs at her feet which had been thrown down unceremoniously at the bedside.

Reaching under the covers again with a tissue to clean himself off, Hans resumed his conversation with Goebbels, bracing himself for another bout of shrieking.

Now gaining his composure as well, Goebbels told Hans in no uncertain terms what was to be done. "Bring her to me. Alive. She will be made an example of! As for these Jew Dogs, I want their heads on a silver platter! Do you understand me, Hans?"

"Jawohl!" Hans answered, raking a hand through his disheveled hair, before hanging up.

With the Fuhrer and the rest of the high command informed of this grand assassination attempt, surely they would return to Germany immediately. At least that was one less thing hanging over his head. The girl and the Basterds had yet to be dealt with.

Forcing himself out of his warm, comfortable, though sex rumpled bed, Hans walked to the bathroom for a quick shower before hunting down that lazy Sturmbannfuhrer of his.

"Off cavorting in a bar no doubt," Hans muttered to himself, as Hermann parked the car. He could hear the music playing in the restaurant's basement tavern and excited voices from the stairwell's entrance.

Descending the steps, Hans crept up on the boy in the black uniform, who stood over a young Feldwebel in a predatory fashion while his fellow SS gang cheered the fight on. The young man stood up, licking the blood from his lips. As soon as the cocky Sturmbannfuhrer raised his fist again, it was caught mid air in a rough grip, the boy's arm now twisted behind his back. The Feldwebel and his friends made a quick exit up the stairs.

"Behave yourself, Dieter!" Hans purred menacingly, and walked the Sturmbannfuhrer out to the car with him. Being on Hans Landa's bad side was enough to sober him up in an instant.


	4. Dieter vs Marcel

_**I don't own rights or characters from Inglorious Basterds.**_

_**It's going down now! **_

_**Chapter 4. Dieter vs. Marcel **_

Dieter Hellstrom found himself laying on the hotel floor in a fetal position in his room. Hans Landa, standing over him, raised his steel toed boot again to deliver another swift kick to the boy's ribs. Taking it, Dieter ground his teeth and closed his eyes as the blood flowed freely from his nose.

"Stand up, Dieter!" Landa commanded, grabbing him by his hair, he pulled the Sturmbannfuhrer up to eye level, as he proceeded to berate him further.

"Insolent boy…don't you remember what I said last time?" He questioned him, his voice in mock sweetness. Up close in the frightened Major's face now, Hans Landa took a drag on his cigarette, breathing the smoke in the face of the broken man, who's jaw clenched as he swallowed hard.

"Do you?"

Dieter could only give a faint nod of his head, while trying to find his balance and hold his bloody nose.

"Give me your hand, Dieter."

"Warum?" Dieter replied, innocently.

"Your hand, now."

Reaching out, Dieter obeyed. Gently Landa stroked the palm of Dieter's hand, before putting out his lit cigarette into his palm, eliciting a sharp yelp from him while he drew it back.

"Awww, Was ist los?" Landa feigned concern, cocking his head and smiling sweetly while Dieter moaned. "Did I hurt you?" He asked, again with sarcasm.

"Ja." Dieter nodded his head, while staggering forward this time, right into Landa's hands.

"I can't hear your head rattle, you know," Landa stated now with a twinge of annoyance. "My dear boy, I do believe it's time for your daily choking!" With that he snaked his hands around the Sturmbannfuhrer's neck and proceeded until his face turned red. Upon release, Dieter Hellstrom slid to the floor once more with a mixed look of relief and ecstasy, high off his ordeal.

"Fool," Landa stated coldly, looking down at the beaten young man on the carpet. "That will teach you to. Making me hunt you down like that, who do you think you are?"

Emmanuelle sank down deep into the hot bubbly water of the bathtub, trying to desperately to take her mind off the day's events. She had hours left to prepare herself for the evening she didn't look forward to. As much as she enjoyed the company of Marcel, she was relieved to have some peace and quiet while he tended to the business. He had insisted she take the day off, and even Aldo Raine would have his boys periodically check up on her now and then to make sure all was well.

She appreciated everyone's concern, but couldn't help feeling overwhelmed by all the attention. Especially that of the wrong sort. As classy as the Nazis could be, she knew all too well their true evil nature, evident in the panic attack that ensued when the man who killed her family graced her with his presence.

Somehow in the process of thinking, she had half fallen asleep in the water. By the time it turned cold, and the bubbles disappeared, she woke up suddenly to a sharp knock on the bathroom door. In a panic, she slipped in a hurry to leave the tub, and went down to the floor.

"Emmanuelle! Be careful!" Marcel said half shocked, half laughing.

Not finding humor in the situation, Emmanuelle stood up and angrily covered herself with a towel. "Don't do that again, Marcel! You scared me half to death!"

"I'm sorry, my love." Marcel gained his composure, and put an arm around his girlfriend. "It was only me."

Sighing and feeling slightly irked at herself for jumping at shadows all the time, Emmanuelle hugged him back. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

"You don't have to do this, you know," Marcel looked her in the eyes, pleading with her not to go through with it. "We've been though enough already."

"I know, but I made a promise and don't forget who we're dealing with. Backing out isn't an option."

"Oui, Shoshanna." Holding her, he kissed her damp hair, never wanting to let her go. Realizing how dark it had become now, Emmanuelle broke from the embrace, and walked off to her room to prepare for the night.

Finding an elegant black dress, she slipped into it. "Black, how appropriate," she thought to herself, while fixing her hair and adding the finishing touches to her makeup. Carefully inching the door open so as not to set off her temper again, Marcel peeked in.

"Mon cher, you look stunning!" He marveled at the vision of this classy young woman who stood before him. It certainly was a nice change from her daily work clothes, which gave her a boyish appearance.

"Merci beaucoup, Marcel!" Grinning like a cat on the prowl, she swept across the floor, pulled him into the room, and kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

"Oh, you wild thing!" He exclaimed once able to come up for air. Ready to take her on the bed right then and there, the amorous mood was quickly interrupted by a knock at the door. Emmanuelle's expression hardened, putting on a brave face. Checking the mirror one more time to fix her makeup, she gave Marcel one last kiss.

"Je vous aime." Marcel, letting go of her hand now, solemnly repeated, "I love you." Walking to the apartment door with all the enthusiasm of being in a funeral procession, she looked back at Marcel with sad eyes. "Adieu."

It was eerily quiet at home without Emmanuelle, and Marcel just couldn't seem to settle down .He was worried about his girlfriend, and he had every right to be. Being involved with the Nazis, even as acquaintances was dangerous. Deep down he knew it wasn't her fault, she'd been sucked into a deadly game and had no choice but to play along. Still, the thought of her on a 'date' romantic or not, made his blood boil. He had fallen in love with her for her spirited nature, but for the same reason she could be hard to handle. He decided to trust her, and tried to make himself comfortable alone, to no avail.

Thinking a few drinks might do the trick, he picked up a half empty bottle and drank from the remainder Archie Hicox left behind. Having second thoughts after the first swig, he put the bottle down grabbed his keys, and walked downstairs to check on the theater.

Little did he know company was arriving shortly, as evident in the sound steel toed jackboots on the pavement just outside the theater. Turning on the lights, Marcel's eyes widened in fear at the sight of a troop of Nazis standing at the door.

Without hesitating, the young, tall, thin man in the black leather jacket pounded on the glass impatiently. "Open up this instant!" He commanded.

Without a choice, Marcel walked shakily to the door and unlocked it. Seeing the man up close sent a chill down his spine. The pale, bruised face, the wild eyes, and the sneer across his lips exposing his white teeth had Marcel frozen in place. Seconds passed before Marcel worked it up to ask what he had done wrong.

Saying nothing, the Nazi maintained his cold, hard stare at Marcel. His eyes never left the man, or the long, thin fingers snaking around the handle on his Walther. He looked positively deathlike. Thankfully the rest of his SS cronies remained a ways outside on his instruction, and out of sight.

Time stood still as this demon of a man strode towards him. "I am Sturmbannfuhrer Dieter Hellstrom, and I have been sent to kill you."

Drawing his Walther, his cold blue eyes never leaving Marcel's, he aimed the weapon dead center in his face. Snapping back to the reality of what was about to happen, Marcel's adrenaline took hold of him, as he met Dieter's arm with a swift blow, knocking the weapon out of his hand. Reaching for his gun, Marcel was quick to take note of the gauze wrapped around one of the Nazi's hands. Stepping on the wounded hand, hand, Dieter let out a feral screech, and rushed Marcel from below, knocking him down.

Dieter clawed fiercely at Marcel's face, and Marcel met him back with several blows from his fists, bloodying the man's nose all over again. Breaking away from the stronger black man, Dieter regrouped, and rose to his feet. Laughing now like a madman, he licked the blood from his lips and drew his dagger. With one quick slash to the throat, red hot blood bubbled from Marcel's veins as he dropped to the floor and ceased to be.

Motioning for the SS men to come inside, "Well, what are you waiting for?" Dieter demanded. "Burn this pit to the ground! Now!"

Rushing to obey the Sturmbannfuhrer, the SS men searched the building until coming across the dark room in the cellar where rows and columns of nitrate film were stored. Upon orders, they ripped it from as many reels as possible, hanging and trailing it in long ribbons throughout the theater like some kind of sick celebration.

Admiring the dirty deed, Dieter smirked, flicked open his gold lighter, and proceeded to set Le Gammar ablaze in an inglorious sea of flames.


End file.
